Mysterious Ways
by Poetic Pixie
Summary: “This gift important in a way he can’t quite figure out. It’s for Luna, a girl who he’s gotten to know quite intimately in the past few months. Or so he’s been told.” HL


Harry was never good at gift giving.

It's a skill that he wasn't born with and isn't too keen on gaining sometime soon. He doesn't need to think about gifts; usually the only people he has ever had to get gifts for are his family. His family consists of Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys and Neville. For all others he gives little, impersonal things. Trinkets and the like; things that one hangs on the wall to gather dust until it's up long enough so that one doesn't feel guilty about taking it back down and banishing it to the attic with its kin.

But this gift is different. It's important in a way he can't quite figure out. It's for Luna, a girl who he's gotten to know quite intimately in the past few months. Or so he's been told. His brain is still somewhat fuzzy, hazy like the old photos of Hogwarts that he can never remember to dust.

He remembers the attack, the ghastly white masks of the rogue Death Eaters as they attacked. The pain of the Cruciatus curse among other more primitive methods of torture. He doesn't remember his rescue, he had been out cold in preparation for the sacrifice. The reason of his capture, an ancient spell that the Death Eaters had prepared in hopes of resurrecting their dead master.

But remembering things before his capture, that has been a challenge. The doctors have assured him that he will remember in time but that time isn't coming soon enough. He doesn't like the confusion when he talks with his friends, the way they tiptoe around subjects that have to do with things he said and did but can't remember.

He does remember though; things come to him in little slivers. He remembers fighting with Ron about quidditch and then making up. He remembers talking with Hermione about her upcoming trip to Greece. Neville excitedly telling about his parents' positive response to the new medicines, the ingredients of which had been discovered by Neville himself.

But there are still holes, patches of time that elude him. And it is because of these holes that he now stands lost and confused surrounded by a sea of men's cologne. "Can I help you?" The good thing about shopping in muggle stores is that he is never recognized as anything other than the skinny, green-eyed boy with messy hair, no matter how patronizing a store clerk can be, it's much better than fawning.

"I, er, am looking for a cologne. It's for a friend…" One look told him that the clerk thought she knew just what type of 'friend' this gift was for.

"What does he prefer to wear? A specific brand or…?" On the other side, fawning never earned him that look of disdain that was shown on the store girl's face.

"I, er, I guess I'll know when I smell it." He walks away quickly on the premise of checking a dubiously large bottle. He still isn't sure exactly why he is here, but he does remember the faintest whisper of Luna's voice talking about men's perfume; of a muggle smell that is important in some incomprehensible way. If magic has taught him anything it is that one should always follow ones instinct about things like this. He lets his feet move as they please.

And they walk past the different counters; each sporting a different scent that varies in its texture, in the way the spray rests on the rims of his glasses and settles into his clothes. His nose itches and his eyes water but every now and then he smells something familiar, like a moth he tries to find it, ignoring the odd looks he gets because there is something urgent about this gift. The gift is like a key and while he knows that this key will just lead to another bigger, more ornate lock he doesn't care. This gift is for Luna and that makes it all the more important.

And then it quite literally hits him, the girls that spray unsuspecting passer-bys swoops in and babbles about the traditional smell of this cologne and the manner of sophistication that it gives off. Personality in a bottle. But it's not just the overpowering smell of spice and wood that make him pause, it's the name on the bottle. The label gives a dull glow in the halogen lights and he can hear Luna's soft voice in his ear.

----

Mothers Day was always a bittersweet day for Harry, after giving Molly his gift he would spend time at the Burrow. Hermione would always spend the whole day with her mother but she would remember to send an owl with a letter and a small something for Molly. Then sometime after the coos that Molly gave over her grandchildren and using the laughter that the twins were bound to create Harry would slip away and visit Godric's Hollow and his own mother.

He walked out the back, the gnomes were nowhere to be seen, this being the only day in which they were cleared out willingly. He wasn't in a hurry, he didn't have the same kind of attachment to his mother as other orphans did he supposed. Some of them remembered their mothers, the lightness of their perfume and the softness of their hands. The lullabies and the dancing hair.

He, of course, only had the faintest imprint of love, one that saved his life and earned him a scar. Love was the only feeling he got when he thought of his parents, even in their photos they seemed to radiate it as they looked at each other. Through these moving pictures he was able to distinguish between their smiles, the ones in which they posed and the spontaneous ones that were captured. Lily smiled like sunshine.

Lost in his own thoughts he suddenly noticed Luna, the cloudy sky dappled her with sunlight, her hair seemed to glimmer and then into slivery strands. In her hands was a bouquet of jasmines. "Hello Luna."

"Harry, hello. Why aren't you inside? The Weasleys always have a big celebration for Molly."

"I know but I had to go see to a… an urgent matter." He wasn't sure the proper conduct for informing someone of your upcoming visit to your dead mother.

"I see. I won't keep you waiting then. I was actually about to visit mum, I go to her grave every Mother's Day." Apparently Luna knew the required conduct, or perhaps she just wasn't a slave to such social decorum.

"So, the jasmines are for her?" He'd never brought flowers to his parents' grave, his dad didn't seem like the type to enjoy them and he didn't know which ones his mom liked.

"Yes, she used to grow all sorts. Dad built her a greenhouse one summer, the windows were charmed so that the muggles wouldn't see anything unusual. Tulips and violets, roses and daffodils. She would always grow different flowers during different seasons, I'd help her water. Carry the watering can for her, careful never to spill a drop, sometimes when we were done, she'd make a garland out of grass stems. She called me her garden fairy. One Mother's Day I drew her garden, used wizarding crayons so that the petals glittered and the water shimmered out of my watering can." Luna's eyes shimmered as well, Harry's arms twitched to hold her but social decorum is something that he himself is a slave to.

"She then…she then took my hand and walked me out. She went to each group of flower and picked the prettiest one out of them all. She wove a crown out of them all and told me that her garden fairy was the prettiest thing in her garden. So every year I get her the flowers she loved, one of the flowers in my crown was jasmine so I get her jasmines. Next year I might get sunflowers. She loved them the best." The wind blew around them and between them and the oddness that came with Luna, the thing that set her apart and made her untouchable, it seemed to separate her from anyone that could make her sadness over her mother go away.

"I can see why she loved them the most. Sunflowers are like you Luna, full of joy, tall and proud. And beautiful." He didn't know why the last part came out, but in the crooked sunlight he realized that she was beautiful and from the way her eyes widened he realized that she, the girl who believed in fireflies and moonlight, did not know how beautiful she was.

"I… thank you Harry." Her cheeks grew rosy and Harry felt an agreeable warmth at her small smile. "I'm sorry for keeping you for so long, you said you had important business." She started to walk away and on his own impulse he reached out and grabbed her hand.

"Luna, I'm going to see my mother and I was wondering if you… if you could spare a flower for her grave." He watched her fingers, fascinated as they carefully selected the nicest bloom and marvelled at how they lingered on his own. "Thank you… your mother sounds like she was a wonderful woman."

"Your mother, Lily, my father knew her at school. He tells me that she was a wonderful woman as well." Her smile, the second one that he'd seen today, wrapped around him and kept him warm even as he apparated to Godric's Hollow.

----

"Do you have any idea how… how horrible this smells Harry?" Hermione has always been a bit sensitive to smells, she opens a window and stuffs Harry's gift back into its decorative bag.

"It's not the best of smells, I agree. But it's just when I saw the name of it, I could hear Luna saying it. I remembered it, she was using the voice she uses when she's talking about the past, slow and heavy. And wistful. She was remembering something good. And so was I." He says this quickly; Hermione has always been able to make him feel like a fool. This is too important for it to be one of those times.

"Harry it's just… it's silly and just so… ridiculous. Luna's perfume is lighter, more airy. This stuff, it's like dark chocolate I guess, rich and slightly bitter." She frowns, she has that shadowed look people get when talking to him. Where they remember things that he can't, they know about things that he should.

"Did I ever tell you this? Just after I was released from St. Mungo's I went to get milk. It took me an hour and a half to find the corner store and get back. I couldn't remember so many things after the Deatheaters tortured me. It took me a week to recognize you and Ron. A whole bloody week. I forgot huge chunks of my life. It's like I'm not whole. I follow my gut feelings now, just because I can only hope it's some memory trying to get out." He has learnt to stop yelling after the war, his voice can be angry without getting any louder. It's unnerving for Hermione.

"Harry… I know this is hard for you. Ron and I, we try to tell you everything but with Luna… if she's not telling you then there's a reason and we don't want to pry."

Harry laughs, "Luna is willing to tell me about whatever it was that happened between us. She just doesn't know what to tell I suppose."

----

There was no beeping in his hospital room, he had never realized that no matter how much of a wizard he was and how much magic he had come across, there were some things that he just thought should be there.

Like the beeping of some unnameable machine that were always the background noise in those muggle TV shows, of course there wouldn't be one here. There were spells to monitor his heart rate, little magical tools that could be attached to ones mouth should they be unable to breathe on their own. He realized that it didn't matter if it was a muggle or magical invention that kept him alive, so long as it did the job. But the room was so quiet.

And that was why he could hear Luna's skirt rustle as she sat on the bed next to him. He opened his eyes just a bit, ever since he'd woken up all manner of people had been next to his bedside. People who would hope for remembrance and then try to awkwardly hide their disappointment when he didn't know who they were and what they were talking about. It had taken him almost two weeks to remember everyone's names.

"Hello Harry. Don't bother to pretend that you're sleeping, when you sleep your nostrils flare." In a vain attempt to feign sleep he flared his nostrils a bit too much which earned him a small giggle. He smiled involuntarily, something about making Luna laugh was an accomplishment for him although he wasn't sure why. "If you want me to leave I can. Ron tells me you've been through a lot and…"

"No, it's ok." The sad lilt in her voice made him open his eyes. "I don't remember much about… us." He wasn't entirely sure if the use of the noun 'us' was entirely appropriate, us implied something that he wasn't sure applied to him and any other person just yet. But still the look on her face when he said it, it was almost like hope. Hope that he remembered something, something that he knew he didn't remember at all. But since he planned to remember he didn't correct himself just yet.

"I suppose you'll like me to tell you then? Tell you the things you want to know? That's what Neville and Ron said they were doing." There was a little crease in her forehead and he somehow knew that it was because she was feeling too many things at once. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything… anything important I guess." The crease got deeper.

"Well, that depends on your definition of important. The things that might seem trivial to others might be crucial to others. I…I don't know how to gauge that in you Harry. I can't just pick a memory at random and hope that it was important to you."

"Well then, tell me what's important to you." The crease disappeared but her eyebrows suddenly became quite apart, she was extremely sad over his answer.

"I can't do that either Harry. Like I said, what's important to me might not mean a thing to you. If I… if I tell you about the memories I hold dear you might begin thinking that what happened was important to you when in reality you couldn't care less. If you… if you get an inkling of something back, a feeling or a consistency, then I will tell you everything you need to know about it Harry. But I won't… I won't spoil your memories. You should be able to decide what's important."

Her eyes went glassy and he struggled to get up, he wanted to hold her hand or stroke her hair, he didn't know what he was supposed to remember but he wanted her to know that he was sorry he couldn't remember. She, however, got up quickly and gave him a brittle smile. "I'm sure you'll get better Harry. Owl me if need be." She seemed to debate whether or not to do something, in the end she didn't and walked out quickly leaving the room silent again.

The sheet crinkled as he settled back down. He didn't make any noise after that for a very long time.

----

Ron is quiet as he watches Harry pacing. "I can't get the… the pictures out of my head. It would be better if they made a single damning whole but they don't! They just float around like bloody reminders that there's something wrong with me."

"There's always been something wrong with you Harry. Would you sit down? Why is this so important to you anyway? It's just a present, if it means anything to her she'll be happy. You don't know how sad she is because you don't remember her." Ron's voice calms Harry down a bit, the War has made Ron slower about things like this. "And if it doesn't mean anything… well, you don't have a reputation for being the best gift giver anyway so it's no worry." His voice is light but Harry isn't fooled for a minute.

"You know that's not true. I just wish that someone would tell me something…" Harry looks at Ron hopefully but sighs at his friend's set jaw.

"Luna asked that we don't talk about her and you. She said that it would be better for her. And for you. I still don't understand why you don't remember, your other memories seemed to have come much faster."

"I had your borrowed memories to start off with, I could think about it and then slowly it would come to me. But with Luna… I'm scared to remember. I don't want to let her down. I've seen her twice since the hospital you know. Both times by accident, she smiled at me and then just gave me this… this hopeful look. And then I shook my head and then her face… it caved in and she walked away. Her feet never dragged before the accident, never. I know that much, she always seemed like she was floating. And the past two times she walked away like she was weighed down by something."

Ron frowns, he's more concerned for Luna than Harry sometimes. She knows what happened and thinks that Harry not remembering means he doesn't want to. And her odd little heart loves him so much that she thinks that if he's happy not knowing then let him be happy.

"I will tell you this mate, you and Luna were in love. The kind of love that made Luna glow and made you laugh more. You'd get extremely jealous if anyone made her smile but she never felt jealous, not once. She had the simple faith that you would never break her heart, she believed in something in you Harry. I don't think she's given up yet, though she's hanging by a thread."

When Harry gets home he sinks into his bed. He lies on his back though he doesn't sleep, instead he just stares at the patterns on the ceiling, it's a bit like starting at the clouds. He watches as the pictures become so clear before merging together with the rest of the staccato white.

----

Harry stared at the greenhouse, Mr. Lovegood had let Harry wander to the backyard where Luna was apparently doing some gardening. He saw vague movement through the windows and decided to go inside before he lost his nerve.

"Luna?" He popped his head in and felt his breath rush out of his lungs. Luna seemed to have created a mini rainstorm, water poured from an invisible source and the greenhouse windows were inexplicably tinted grey. She was dancing slowly, her movements set against a backdrop of glorious colour and petals. She was flicking her wand this way and that to direct her rain and he could hear her humming some indescribable song. He watched quietly as she sang to her flowers, her hair flowed around her body and her eyes were alight with something private and wonderful. He knew he was staring and for a few minutes he could do nothing about it, but he couldn't intrude on this for long.

"L-Luna?" She looked up and for the first time since he'd known her, he thought he caught a trace of embarrassment on her cheeks. He wondered what about him had caused her to be suddenly self-conscious, he felt his chest swell at the thought. "I was just over at the Burrow and thought I'd say hi." He felt like he was asking Cho to the Yule Ball all over again, he was grateful his words didn't stick together this time.

"It that it, just a hello? Or did you come for a bit of conversation as well? I can supply either or both if you'd like." The rain made Luna's shirt cling to her body in an extremely indecent way though she didn't seem to notice it, as she didn't seem to notice it was still raining. Harry tried very hard not to think about the things that Luna could supply.

"Conversation is good." He wet his lips and followed Luna to a bench, the seat was damp but he didn't notice.

"I never thanked you for the interview did I? It was sweet of you to agree to see my dad, he was so happy. After the attack and his paralysis he can't do field work anymore… he felt like he was a real reporter again. Him doing the first and only interview with the Boy Who Saved Us All." Luna smiled up at him in a way that made having to continuously dodge Rita Skeeter after the interview worth it tenfold.

"It was nothing, your father is a really good reporter Luna. After a while I even forgot I was being interviewed. He told me about all these different places he's visited, the things he did. He told me stories about you and your mother too." Harry saw the little frown on Luna's lips, the one she seemed to always get when they talked about the past. He didn't like that frown so he changed the subject. "Your garden's beautiful Luna, you have so many different plants here."

And she did, the magic made her greenhouse even bigger than her yard, there was a young tree growing in the corner, there was colour everywhere, a mix of both wizarding and muggle plants. The rain hadn't stopped and he could hear the soft pitter-patter as it hit the windows; he watched a drop slide down a leaf and onto Luna's lap.

"Thank you, I come here quite often. When dad's writing or reading I usually take care of them." Luna never showed any resentment at having to take care of her father, she didn't send him to a nursing home because she said that he could never leave this house. She'd once told Harry that her father had taken such good care of her that it was time she did the same. "On cold winter nights my mother would take me and my dad and we'd all sit here. Dad would tell us stories and mum would sing to us. I'd fall asleep on my dad's lap and wake up smelling the greenhouse on my pillow."

"It sounds wonderful." Harry didn't mind when Luna talked about her family. When he heard Ron's tales of terror at the hands of Fred and George when he was only five or Hermione's recollection of a vacation she took with her parents, it would sometimes make something in him twinge. He couldn't remember anything about his family. He would sometimes dream about a wisp of lavender baby powder and soft crooning; he was never sure if it was real or not.

"It was, when my mum died I took care of her garden, she loved it so much I couldn't let it die like she had. The first Christmas Eve after she was gone dad and I came here, we just stared at the colours. I tried counting every single flower but there were too many. We didn't talk and when I started to nod off he carried me to my room and kissed me good night. The next day I woke up early and picked some holly for him like my mother used to, I think it was then that we started to realize that she was really gone. It was for the best, but as I went to sleep that night I could hear her singing carols. She had a beautiful voice."

"I'm… I'm sorry Luna." She nodded up at him, getting up slowly she waved her wand and the rain stopped. He watched as she slowly seemed to shake off the melancholy that she had gotten from remembering.

"I suppose you have to go somewhere. I'm sorry if the requested conversation wasn't what you'd expected. I've always said that the best conversations are spontaneous, that way you're more likely to blurt out things that you'd rather not." She cast a spell and they were both dry. "The spell doesn't work well on hair I'm afraid, it's dry but it's even more of a mess than usual." She laughed as he jumped up to try and tame it. "Don't worry Harry, there's no one that needs impressing here."

"Oh yes there is." It seemed that spontaneous conversations weren't the only way that people were most likely to blurt out unwanted things. "I mean, er, that I like to look my best for people." He knew the Luna wasn't just 'people' but he couldn't admit it to himself half the time, much less to her. Luna gave him a look that told him that she didn't believe him in the least.

"I doubt it matters very much how you look to people, they see the great Harry Potter and they're impressed as it is. Must be a very hard thing I guess, to have to keep up that image. When I hear stories about you it's extremely odd how people seem to describe you, you act differently with them than with your friends. Everyone does. No one seems to realize that you can fall into the category of everyone. I once heard a girl mention that she thought that you'd be taller."

"Did you think I'd be taller?" He wasn't intrigued by Luna's insight, he'd gotten far too used to it. He did wonder if Luna had thought he'd have been different, smarter or more handsome?

"I always thought your eyes would be a different colour. I knew what you looked like before I met you, you'd always be pointed out to the first years, like some sort of tourist attraction. But I had never seen your eyes, I was never close enough to do so. I always thought they'd be darker, almost black. But then they turned out to be a vivid green, I liked them better that way actually. They're very pretty eyes." She reached out and touched his face, her fingers were cool against his skin. Something hovered over her face and he couldn't, wouldn't, move. "Harry I'm going to kiss you now." It was all she said before bringing her lips to his.

Luna created all kinds of magic but at that moment Harry decided that this was the one he liked best.

----

Harry doesn't like sour candies. At least not the muggle ones, he can taste the artificiality on his tongue instantly. And so he stares morosely at the huge bag of sour skittles that sits on his coffee table. He remembers more of Luna now, about the way she used to kiss him, how she would tickle him awake if he took too long to do so the conventional way. And yet he can't remember all of it. He can't remember the little things, the things that are embarrassing and intimate and what lets him _know_ Luna in a way that is simply breathtaking.

And so we're back to the sour skittles.

When Harry was feeling especially low he would drown his sorrows in a bag of candy. It was how he'd gotten through after the kidnapping incident. Mind, he had gained quite a few pounds but his incessant habit of getting lost had always managed to let him lose it again. And now he needs the candy to let him feel less guilty about the Luna-problem.

And all he has is a bag of sour skittles.

There are other ways, he reasons, to get rid of his guilt. He could go out and run, sweat his frustration out. He could just go see Luna and risk seeing her heart break. But it's easier to just wallow, but one can't wallow properly without the right type of comfort food. Nothing will be consumed that can't be simply taken straight out of the box or cooked with one spell, two at the most. Luna's birthday is in two days and he still has only the bottle of cologne and no idea why it's so important.

The phone rings, he lets the machine pick it up as he has no intention of getting up. Hermione's voice rings from somewhere next to the couch and it reminds him of how lazy he's been. As if she knows that he's been sick with worry and hasn't shaved in two days, her voice is slightly stern; she's scolding him as she used to in Hogwarts.

"Harry? I've been calling you and you still haven't answered. We missed you last night, our weekly meetings aren't the same when you're not there. Harry, Ron told me about your worrying over Luna's present. Don't. She'll appreciate that you've tried, you said that you remember loads more since the last time we talked. That's good just by itself…" She hesitates, despite her initial disapproval of Luna, Hermione has become close friends with the strange girl. They both share a love for learning and books and often send each other worn paperbacks when they find something they know the other will like. Harry hears the indecision in her voice and when she starts speaking again he knows that whatever she had wanted to say would not be said.

"Harry call me back or Owl me. We haven't talked in the longest time it seems. Oh, Viktor says hi and something about quidditch that I didn't quite catch, he seems happy about it though. Bye Harry." The line goes dead and Harry sighs, Hermione is worried enough about him that she doesn't mention it. That in itself is enough to make him do the unthinkable.

He reaches out and starts eating the sour skittles.

----

There was something very wrong with this bed. It took Harry a few minutes to figure out what it was.

Luna wasn't in it.

While they both liked to sleep in, Luna was always the first to get out of bed. Harry would be in a semi-sleeping state and he'd let Luna make the first move. Until then he would stay in his little pocket of warmth, but it seemed that the pocket of warmth wasn't in bed.

"Luna?" He should be more wary, a lifetime of fighting had taught him that. But Luna was a big girl, capable of many curses and so Harry was only worried about the fool that tried to attack her. Her voice traveled down the hallway into the bedroom.

"I'm getting a glass of milk, I woke up and thought I saw a Caraageenan. Best way to make sure they don't burrow into your scalp and try to eat all your hair is drinking some milk. They can't stand the smell." Harry, used to such peculiarities, just asked her to come back to bed. "Why? Sometimes I think that I'm only good to you as a heat-giving pillow. Besides, it was your snoring that woke me up."

She walked in, her eyes still half-closed from drowsiness, her hair tousled and silver from the moonlight that peeked through the broken blinds. There were times when Harry wasn't sure why Luna put up with him but in the end he just decided that whatever reasons she had he was thankful for each and every one.

"You're more than a pillow Luna, you're also quite a good cook." He didn't duck in time for the pillow to miss his head but he did move fast enough to catch her around the waist. He brought her back down and then yawned sleepily. "If you don't stop moving then I'll never get my eight hours and that'll make me really cranky."

"You're cranky anyway." She twisted until she was comfortable and then whispered something to keep the nightmares away, a ritual that he'd gotten used to. It lulled him to sleep and Luna didn't say a word as he held her tighter.

----

Luna hasn't opened her gifts yet; they're all in a small pile, tucked away in a corner. She sits with her friends, across the room from him. The remains of a chocolate cake lie in front of her, a small bit of icing still on her lip. He wants to go over there and wipe if off, he longs to touch her as he used to. Like he does in those half-dreams he has now, dreams that leave him hot and sweaty and frustrated.

She had smiled shyly at him when he'd given her a gift, as if they were acquaintances that were doing a polite dance of small talk. He wants to tell her that he knows the things they'd done, that they'd talked and laughed and touched and loved, but he can't. She wants something so intangible, something so real, something he doesn't have.

This was unrequited and reciprocated love all in one huge tangled mess. Only without any of the perks.

Behind him something drops, he turns around and finds Lionel Lovegood with a spilled drink on the carpet. He mutters a spell to clean it up and goes to help Luna's father. "I'm alright Harry, I'm fine. The glass was a bit slippery that's all. The arthritis and all. Never grow old Harry, it's impedes on the plans you carefully made when you were young. Now if you'll be so kind as to stop staring at my daughter for two seconds and wheel me outside?" If Lionel notices Harry's slight blush he doesn't mention it.

The night air is cool against his face, Harry closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them, unsure if he should leave Lionel or not.

"You can go soon Harry, but first I want a word." The paralysis and the unavoidable sluggishness of old age have made him slower, his word slurring a bit around the edges. But in the way he talks, the meaning behind his words, they show that for all his puttering he's still very sharp. But now he stares into the murky walls of Luna's greenhouse, the only indication that he hasn't nodded of to sleep is his twisting of his swollen fingers. Harry has never liked long silences like this and so tries to break it.

"How are things at the old folks home?"

"Fine, fine." Lionel's head rises, "Harry, I want to talk about you and Luna." He seems to study Harry for a few moments, trying to find something and when he starts to speak again Harry isn't sure if he's found it. "Harry, my daughter is a sweet girl. I know that if you loved her a great deal before the accident and I can see you watch her now. I know that if you don't love her now you will eventually.

"I just want you to promise me Harry. Promise me that you'll take care of her, I'm not long for this world and when I'm gone I want someone to look after my Luna. I know my daughter, I know that for every time you ducked your head to make sure no one saw you looking she looked up. Luna's had her heart broken so many times, the first time when she was only nine years old, my poor darling girl…"

"Mr. Lovegood… I promise. I'll take care of her." Harry whispers this, he doesn't know if Lionel hears him but they sit there, staring at a pale full moon that has decided to shine tonight for Luna. Soon the coolness of the night catches up with Lionel and he asks to be wheeled in.

Many people have left, a few of Luna's close friends stay behind to help clean up. They converse throughout the house, yelling at each other about news and gossip. Lionel soon says bye to his daughter and floos home, others follow and Harry isn't sure if he should go or not; he keeps missing Luna. She seems to be hiding from him, sweeping up the stairs as he enters a room or stepping out just as he steps in.

He does corner her however just as the last guests leave, he wants her to acknowledge him. To look at him and smile at him like he can remember her doing.

"Harry… it's late. You should go home…" She talks to his shirt, her eyes never glancing up at him.

"Luna I… Luna I want you to open my gift." There are times in life when we become so desperate that we can place all our hope on one thing. We decide that if that one thing fails then we are destined to fail also. It's silly and irrational but desperate people tend to deal in absolutes. Harry's absolute is a bottle of men's cologne.

She doesn't say a word, just walks to her room where the gifts have been moved to, Harry is unsure whether to go in or not and so he stays. The doorway is awkward. She finds his clumsy bag, a bit too big for the gift and the bottle slides into her hands easily, he can see the dark liquid float and spread in the glass that peeks from between her fingers. He watches her look at it and he can't read her face, a face which is a hybrid of so many things that he's scared to name even one.

"I'm assuming you don't remember all of this, all of what happened with this. Or else you'd have picked something else with which to prove your undying love and devotion to me. But this… this isn't the worst thing you could've picked." She stares at Harry who still stays in the doorway, his head a little more forward then his body to avoid hitting the frame.

"I remembered some things. I remember the smell and your voice whispering its name in my ear." His unspoken question proves something to her, proves enough that she can tell him about the glass in her fingers that casts light on the ceiling.

"You spilled it, my father had gotten it when I was eleven, I had taken it to Hogwarts and the smell would always make me feel better when I was homesick. I never used it but once you spilt the bottle. My carpet was soaked, there's a stain right there if you look close enough. You felt horrible about it, you spent two weeks looking for a new bottle and you couldn't find it. I asked you why it was so important, do you remember what you said?" Harry shakes his head, it's coming back to him now in small bits but this piece is elusive.

"You said that it was important because you knew how much I loved it. You said that you were looking for it because you loved me and you hated to see me so sad." She ducks her head but not before he sees something amazing in her blue eyes. "It was the first time you'd told me you loved me." Her voice is far away and he can see her cheeks curl from the side because of her grin.

"I've never been good with that rubbish, I never know how to… how to say it."

"The best way to say something is to often just say it." He can feel her eyes on him, her willing him to look at her but he doesn't. He can't.

"When… Luna I…there's a feeling you get when you're falling in love. There's another type of feeling you get when you're simply _in_ love. And this… this is an odd mix between the two. Which might result in just love, will result. Has resulted." He was never good at verb tenses. "_Has_." And then his realizing that his seemingly muddled mind has seemingly made up its mind he crosses the room in as little steps as possible, his feet slightly trip him but he reaches her with no injury. He lands on the bed beside her and she's so _close_ and she's finally _his_ again. She looks up at him with her beautiful eyes and her beautiful smile and the bottle falls down between them, sliding down the comforter it lands on the ground with a quiet 'chink', they both don't notice.

And then he kisses her.

It's slow and it's sweet and simply incredible. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her as close as he can because he's been without her for so long that he needs to reaffirm that she's really here with him, cradled in his arms. Her skin is unbearably soft and her lips are as well. Her fingers run thought his hair and he can't help but think that this is better than any memory that he could ever have.


End file.
